ain,--
Sunshine still must follow rain!
Only not at death, for death--
Now I see--is that first breath
Which our souls draw when we enter
Life, that is of all life center.

Know ye Allah's law is love,
Viewed from Allah's Throne above;
Be ye firm of trust, and come
Faithful onward to your home!
"_La Allah ilia Allah!_ Yea,
Mu'hid! Restorer! Sovereign!" say!

_He who died at Asan gave
This to those that made his grave._

SIR EDWIN ARNOLD.

[11] The hour of prayer; esteemed a blessed time to die.

IT IS NOT DEATH TO DIE.

It is not death to die,
To leave this weary road,
And, midst the brotherhood on high,
To be at home with God.

It is not death to close
The eye long dimmed by tears,
And wake in glorious repose,
To spend eternal years.

It is not death to bear
The wrench that sets us free
From dungeon-chain, to breathe the air
Of boundless liberty.

It is not death to fling
Aside this sinful dust,
And rise on strong, exulting wing,
To live among the just.

Jesus, thou Prince of Life,
Thy chosen cannot die!
Like Thee they conquer in the strife,
To reign with Thee on high.

GEORGE WASHINGTON BETHUNE.

THERE IS NO DEATH.

There is no death! the stars go down
To rise upon some other shore,
And bright in heaven's jewelled crown
They shine forever more.

There is no death! the forest leaves
Convert to life the viewless air;
The rocks disorganize to feed
The hungry moss they bear.

There is no death! the dust we tread
Shall change, beneath the summer showers,
To golden grain, or mellow fruit,
Or rainbow-tinted flowers.

There is no death! the leaves may fall.
The flowers may fade and pass away--
They only wait, through wintry hours,
The warm sweet breath of May.

There is no death! the choicest gifts
That heaven hath kindly lent to earth
Are ever first to seek again
The country of their birth.

And all things that for growth of joy
Are worthy of our love or care,
Whose loss has left us desolate,
Are safely garnered there.

Though life become a dreary waste,
We know its fairest, sweetest flowers,
Transplanted into paradise,
Adorn immortal bowers.

The voice of bird-like melody
That we have missed and mourned so long
Now mingles with the angel choir
In everlasting song.

There is no death! although we grieve
When beautiful, familiar forms
That we have learned to love are torn
From our embracing arms;